


An Incandescent Glow

by sherlocks_deerstalker



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: John Watson Thinks Sherlock Holmes is Dead, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Sherlock's Violin, Violinist Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 10:36:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11334036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlocks_deerstalker/pseuds/sherlocks_deerstalker
Summary: Everything should be as it was left.But not with Sherlock.





	An Incandescent Glow

**Author's Note:**

> So this is currently a one-shot and sits quite well as such, but hopefully I will have some time in the future to continue it and add more chapters, developing it into a story.

A heavy layer of dust was settled upon the bedside table, masking the faded notes of a piece of music with a title that could no longer be made out. As the door opened, the pages fluttered from the first breeze they had felt in almost a year. The floor creaked as onerous footsteps moved towards the closed window, gently cracking it open with a swift gust of wind.

The unforeseen draft knocked the pages onto the floor, causing the figure by the window to jump, then thoroughly curse himself for being so fragile. A soldier, however long ago his duty was, should be stronger than this, should be able to confront emotions as if going into battle. Yet as he gathered the sheets from across the barren carpet, the crumpled paper echoed the grief that ricocheted through him.

The bed called to him, yearning him to take a step that he is currently unable to. He turned away, placing the music back on the bedside table without so much as a glance towards the notes. He brushed his fingers over the lamp switch, casting a warm glow that descended upon the room. In the corner, a golden music stand is revealed; well, perhaps not golden, but in this light and in his mind, anything in that room had an incandescent glow.

He limped around the foot of the bed towards the abeyant stand, retrieving the list of things he came to collect from his pocket. The list appeared to be in a similar condition to the sheet music that frightened him so earlier; crinkled and well handled, with damp spots leaving dim patches that blotch the ink. In shaky handwriting, there was written:

_ Things from 221b _

_~~Skull~~ _

_~~Microscope~~ _

_Violin_

It was a brief list, but he couldn’t bring himself to stay for long, not with the agonizing memories of that day still haunting him almost a year later. Being in that building was enough to make him tremble, never mind standing in the bedroom.

Taking most of his weight on his left side, he staggered forward, languidly approaching the drawer to the right of the music stand where he knew the violin was.

 _The_ violin.

The violin that drew him out of nightmares.

The violin that helped him drift back off into a calm and peaceful sleep.

The violin that expressed feelings that couldn’t be put into words.

The violin that demonstrated an emotionless man was perhaps one of the most emotional he knew.

And it was gone.


End file.
